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She didn’t change channels but kept listening, in case they added that part of the story later. But—nothing. There wasn’t any mention of a chase and attempted murder—hers, by the way—on the interstate, either.
No, they don’t want anyone else to find you. They want you to themselves.
Forget the police. That was so much scarier than being wanted by the police.
It was possible they’d shown her face on another news broadcast, or on another channel, but she didn’t think so. The mysterious “they” were controlling everything, even the news that was released to the public. Again she wondered if she was the good guy or the bad guy. She didn’t know, and at the moment she didn’t much care. Her only care, her only priority, was to survive.
Looked at logically, though, she thought she had to be a good-guy type. She didn’t feel any homicidal tendencies, nor did she want to knock over an armored car. If she was a bad
guy, her badness seemed to be limited to car theft, which was way too minor to have people trying to hunt her down and kill her. There had to be more. She just didn’t know what that “more” was.
It was too early in the day for her to go to bed—at least, it would be on a normal day. But this wasn’t a normal day; she didn’t even know what normal was, anymore. She was tired, and she needed to get rest where and when she could. After getting fully dressed, in case she had to run in a hurry, with her bag filled with everything she currently possessed sitting on the floor beside her bed, she closed her eyes.
And slept.
She’d assumed, when she first closed her eyes, that if she dreamed at all her dream would be one of fear, a nightmare about the unknown, about them.
Instead she dreamed about X again: X in her room of color, and in that big bed. Even in her dream she was a little surprised that he’d shown up again. This time she was on top and he was the one wearing handcuffs. He liked it. Not as much as when he was in complete control, but still … he liked it. Interesting. X liked a touch of kink. He liked her. And oh, the sex was good. It was dream sex, but that was infinitely better than nothing. Which was what she’d enjoyed the past however many years. Nothing. Nothing and no one.
She whispered into X’s ear, as she moved slowly, taking all of him in, riding him as if it were the last time, the only time. I should’ve let them kill me … It would have been better than this, easier … No, no, they did kill me, and you let them…
Lizzy woke with her hands clenched and her heart pounding. It was dark outside. She wasn’t wearing a watch, the clock on the bedside table was blinking the wrong time, and she didn’t dare put the battery in her cell phone just to check the time. She should probably dump the cell, but she couldn’t make herself do that quite yet. What if there were an emergency and she needed it? As in making a call to 911, screaming for help because someone was trying to kill her? Yeah, she’d keep the phone for a little bit longer, at least until she had some sort of concrete plan.
She didn’t dare turn on a light, since there was likely a new desk clerk on duty by now and if he or she looked this way and saw there was a light on in room 107 … well, she didn’t want to take that chance. But with the heavy curtains tightly closed, she took a small risk and turned on the television. Just seeing what program was on helped her to narrow the time to within the hour. Flipping through the channels until she found a twenty-four-hour news station, she stopped. There, in the bottom left-hand corner, was the precise time.
She needed the precise time. Time was important. With a flick of her thumb, the television went dark again.
She’d slept five hours, which was amazing, all things considered. Another hour, maybe two, and she could venture out, find an old car, and hot-wire it. No way could she stay here until morning. The desk clerk’s intentions had been good, but what if Cindy had second thoughts? What if she told a friend who told a friend who told the wrong friend?
She couldn’t trust anyone.
If she stole a car that was parked overnight, it shouldn’t be missed for several hours. She should find a house, then, or an apartment building. Maybe a motel like this one, where maybe someone had been careless enough to leave his keys in the ignition. It happened all the time. But she wouldn’t do it at this motel, because it would bring too much attention to the place. Cindy would definitely talk if she thought a woman she’d helped had stolen a paying guest’s vehicle.
By tomorrow morning she could be well into Virginia, maybe even North Carolina. She could dump the car before sunup, and at that distance away from the city a bus would be safe enough. Well, as safe as anything else.
A plan. Finally.
And until then? She didn’t think she could sleep anymore. If she tried she’d be worried that she’d sleep too long, and that would keep her awake. Since the pain of remembering seemed to have disappeared, she sat and tried to remember … something, anything. Just some small things, such as where she’d lived, whether she’d worn her hair short or long, if she’d gotten a flu shot every year. She had for the past three years, but what about before that? That two-year gap remained stubbornly blank.
Less than an hour later, she heard the roar of a powerful motorcycle engine as it pulled into the parking lot. Someone coming in late would probably also sleep late, and the idea of stealing a motorcycle and flying out of town with the wind in her hair was oddly appealing. Did she even know how to ride one? Oh, hell yeah. She couldn’t pull up any particular memories, but she was suddenly certain that she was no stranger to a motorcycle. She’d already decided not to steal a car from this parking lot, but she was curious. She had to look.
With the lights in the room off, no one should be able to tell that she’d parted the curtains just enough to peer into the parking lot. The motorcycle’s parking lights went off just as she looked out, so she knew precisely where to focus.
The bike was on the other side of the L-shaped lot, parked beneath the one broken streetlamp in the area. For a moment the man who stepped away from the motorcycle was so lost in darkness she could barely make out his shape, but then he moved through a lit section, and her heart stopped.
Him. The man from Walgreens.
X.
Okay, this was taking coincidence way too far.
He stayed in shadows as much as was possible, given that the parking lot was so well lit. Was it her imagination, or was he walking straight for her? His gait was smooth, strong, confident, as if he knew right where she was—and he was coming to get her.
Shit! He was one of them!
Lizzy moved fast. She slung the strap of the big bag over one shoulder, smoothly pulled out the scissors, and darted into the bathroom. There was enough light coming through the small window for her to at least orient herself. She could go out the window, but there might be a better way. Swiftly she unlocked and opened it, hoisted herself up, and used the tip of the scissors to break one of the frosted glass panes. The sound of breaking glass wasn’t horribly loud, but it was … enough. Maybe. Leaning out the window slightly, she made a soft sound, an exclamation, and then she made a fist and popped it against the window frame.
And she waited.
